Tag Archives: writing when life is good

It’s been too long since I found something pretty to post on these pages. For months now, I’ve been quiet. Reserved. Tip-toeing toward something I couldn’t define.

I wasn’t happy. With this. With us. With the way my words always felt swallowed up and weak the next morning. When I hit the refresh button. And brewed another bag of tea. And when I laced up my kick-butt combat boots to head to Target, it was because I couldn’t quite find the guts to say failure was residing in my fingertips.

Failure to write, yes, but more so the kind of failure that leaves you skimming dictionary pages: what, what do you call it? This thing that means “Everything feels like soggy & watered down memories anymore. Everything feels like the sappy wrap-up to a once-upon-a-time sad story.”

I felt like every word was dripping with repetition. I had finished my growing. I had finished my stretching toward the sun.

Now, now I was going to march into the bright lights and conquer this so-called Real Life, this Monday morning mountain of emails and phone calls and messages and a to-do list that holds hundreds of unchecked boxes.

This weekend, I lost myself in silence. Blocks of sunshine warmed my arms, my forehead, the corners of my eyes, the knuckles of my toes. I almost fell asleep out there, a few steps and a sliding glass door from humanity, but I didn’t.

I realized, then, how much time it had been since I found comfort in the warm air, the cool nights, the mid-morning churn of a Sunday in the springtime. I had forgotten to lose track of time. I had forgotten to slip into worn & beaten lawn furniture, the crackle of my wind chimes lulling me to sleep.

I had forgotten to find peace & hope & strength in settling down. In the rhythm of my own heart. In the jolt of the screen door opening behind me. In the waking up from dreaming, the return to center, the moment before you begin to create.

That is a treasured moment. The world spins madly on, while the children crest slow hills in front of you and push tricycles down the sidewalk and form teams for hide-and-seek. And you awaken your mind to opportunity: to live & love & capture the sounds falling around you like raindrops before the pavement soaks them up and stifles you.

For months, I have let the pavement soak my captured moments up because I’ve believed none of them good enough, worthy enough, of space on these pages. And so I’ve chosen silence.

But silence means you forget how to find joy in the small moments. You forget to lift up the rocks of your life and search for something rich & full & exciting.

Some days, I catch myself feeling thankful for all the good & kind people & moments I get. The hands that hold me. The arms that wrap around my neck. The calls that pop up on my lock screen.

Writing is easy when you’re stuck in the past. It’s hard when you’re stuck in the beautiful present, when each day feels like a gift but none of them feel strong enough to serenade the young kids waiting for a story to elate them & push them.

The story is this: always, always find reasons to push through failure. Don’t let the craze of life lift away your spirit.

Shine, just shine. You are never quite finished stretching toward the sun.